The Culling
by SNAZZY19
Summary: Brick only understands one thing- getting what he wants. It is 1940, set in NAZI occupied France, a run in with a long haired revolutionist has lead the red eyed demon within him on a path of destruction. He just had to have her, to teach her a lesson
1. The Thief

**Hi all! I just wanted to say welcome to my story and thank for clicking on it. I gave this sory a lot of thought so I hope you like it.**

 **This story does contain strong language!**

 **I would also like to take a moment to thank my AMAZING beta: WhenUniversesCollide. She/he has been a huge help. Don't forget to review at the end. Don't be shy, tell me what you think. Okay. On with the show. Enjoy.**

Boisterous laughter filled the bar. He joined his fellow comrades in song and dance, his inebriated voice bellowing out the age old tunes. The beer was flowing heavily as they celebrated their victory in the local French bar, it wasn't good beer but hell it sure did the job. He was grabbed around the shoulders by a drunken Mitch who shouted joyously, "We shall bring England to its knees next!" The men raised their glasses in agreement, drunken cries of laughter ringing euphorically at the statement.

Brick called out to the bar man. "Another round for my men here!"

The cheers echoed around the room. He gripped the cedar of the bar tightly and the handle of his glass even tighter. They had officially taken France, and they were now advancing into the rest of Europe. Soon they would have the whole continent, spreading their ideology across the world. He turned his back on the bar to see a poster of the opposite wall illuminated by the lights beside it. He walked towards it transfixed, looking upon his proud dark-haired president, Adolf Hitler. His chest swelled with pride.

"We did it." he whispered, as if talking to the hero himself.

"You look like you're just about to kiss it." Brick looked to the left to see Boomer the chief medic leaning against the wall with a smirk plastered on his face. He and I had been friends since childhood. He had always wanted to be a doctor, and when Die Vater took power he had rushed to complete his studies to avoid recruitment. Coward. It was all for naught though as he was sent into war as a medic instead.

Boomer was not one for the gore of war. Despite the Aryan blonde hair and blue eyes he did not fully support Hitler but wasn't stupid enough to show it. He succeeded in hiding it away from all but me. All our years spent together allowed me to see right through his admittedly well-constructed façade. It was good to have someone always on your side here instead of climbing onto your rank.

"Die Vader deserves nothing but the utmost respect, Boomer." he chastised. "It would do you well to hold your tongue in public."

Boomers smiled "Oh, just having a bit of fun, Brick. By the way all these men are drinking they won't remember a single transgression." He sniffed in disgust at the drunken state of the comrades.

Brick grabbed him by the collar and push him against the poster. "You can never be too sure my friend," he shoved him to the side. "Stay in line." Boomer glared at him before dusting himself off. It was the alcohol. It was the only thing that would provoke such violence directed at Boomer. Nevertheless, Brick's dedication to Hitler was fierce and I could only tolerate so much of Boomers complete disregard of it.

"How is your wife, does she still write to you?" Boomer asked, trying to shake off the previous anger directed towards him. Brick felt a level of discomfort at the mention of her. Yes. Gaby had continued to write to me. She and he married two years before he was drafted, going from Gaby Fatale to Gaby Jojo in one signature. He was a star struck youth at the time just out of university doing engineering and marrying the one women every man in Germany wanted. When the war began he began to train hard. Days went by in a blur of sweat and pain up until it was time to say goodbye to his beautiful wife and with her bed laying cold and empty she let it be warmed by another. Oh so says the letters from a neighbour. He was no longer in love with her by then, their distance rendering the marriage void. He couldn't blame her though, the women that he had come across here were all beautiful and all too willing to lift their skirts for a slab of chocolate. How could he have resisted. Still, her betrayal had done a number on my pride.

"That stung!" Brick laughed sarcastically, seeking redemption for his violence, alcohol-induced or not, through his restraint of another wave of anger.

"So does my arm right now." he winced shaking the appendage for good measure.

"Why so gloomy, Boomer? Join the festivities!" He grinned.

"I do not celebrate deaths Brick no matter what their race is" his eyes narrowed. "So I'll have to leave you to it." He walked out on me just like that. He almost called out for him, but decided against it.

He shook his head and instead turned to the men and hollered "Eat, drink and be merry my friends, for soon we shall spill the blood of an English man!". They screamed and shouted in approval.

He needed a cigarette so he walked outside the pub and distanced himself from the cheering group accompanied by loud music. He took a long walk outside the city and into the neighbouring forest, making his way further and further away from base. He needed some space to clear his head, with the rush of the war he rarely had any time of his own. He had shared bunkers and floors with his partners this whole time, but that would soon be a thing of the past. He had been made a lieutenant for his efforts in the war and would be moving into a seized house on French land, well, German land now. He grinned at the thought. For now he sought refuge in the forest. He pulled out the long white roll and lit it. He took a long drag at the cigarette and exhaled slowly savouring the taste.

It was a full moon, which helped explained his erratic emotions to an extent. It was said that the gravitational pull of the moon pulled at the strings of ones sanity, and the full moon was when those strings were at its most strained. His mind was warped with thoughts of the new responsibilities he had undertaken when becoming lieutenant. He wouldn't be fighting anymore that's for sure and He would be using this war as his own personal chessboard letting his strategic mind out to play. It had been a while since he had used that side of his brain. Something beyond the point, shoot and duck reflex he had built up over the past few months. People didn't get elected lieutenant so quickly so it was a shock to all when he was elected. He smiled at the memory. He was giddy. The alcohol was taking its toll on him, his steps becoming clumsy and he no longer knew where he was or where he was going.

His thoughts were silenced when he heard footsteps and rustling of bushes. It was too dark and he was too drunk to see what was going on, but by the time He did it was too late.

She moved from the buses with stealth. He managed to make out her pert heat shaped face which was bruised. A cut had sliced her left cheek the blood had dried and was beginning to scab.

He had had my gun on my person but his reflexes were slow and his mind rendered impotent. He stared at her still form and assessed her.

The blood was seeping out of the wound on her leg, its color staining the makeshift gauze around her thigh wine red and scenting the air with a metallic taste. She heaved a few breaths before shuddering, her forehead perspiring, her matted hair sticking to the sides of her face. She was weak. Her skin paler than the summer sun would have allowed and her hold on her gun was shaky. He noticed it for the first time before she jutted the cold steel into his throat.

He stared her down, meeting her eyes to see not fear, but a fierce determination which forced me to withhold his pity. He barely registered the words spoken through her chapped lips. "Antibiotics, now."

He sighed while reaching into his pocket to retrieve a bottle of it with a small syringe. He had always carried it on his person at Boomers request, should he get into any trouble on the field. He hadn't imagined that he would run into this kind of trouble. She grabbed it from his hands at first sight.

"Hands up. Move to the tree. Now!" She barked. He did as instructed, too drunk to think otherwise. She limped towards him and began to tie him to the tree. It was tight, he couldn't move. Impressive. She sat in front of him and began to administer the medicine to herself shakily. She tapped her forearm seeking a vein and aligned the syringe. She winced at the intruding needle but held it in place until the liquid was spent. Quickly discarding the syringe she began to attend to her injured leg, while he watched her attempt to save her life.

"Alcohol" She demanded. He stared at her silently. She picked up her gun and aimed it at me. He obliged her with a sneer before nodding his head towards his left pocket. She reached for it and dug into it, fishing out a metal flask. She unwrapped the bandage to reveal a small bullet hole. She gripped the flask with purpose before pouring the clear liquid over the wound, groaning and hissing in pain.

"Scheisse!" She gasped taking gulps of air. It was starting to bleed again, so she pulled out the belt slung around my pants and fastened it above the wound. She then pulled out a needle and thread from a brown bag he hadn't realised she carried. She slowly and skillfully pierced her skin and sewed the wound shut, her fingers darting back and forth rhythmically. Her face held in a grimace as she silently gasped at the pain. She bandaged her leg up again and laid down no more than two meters away. She was panting with the effort of it all, and it was in this stillness that he was overcome with hysterical laughter. How had he gotten myself into this position? He laughed at the hilarity of it all. He. At the mercy of some cunt.

"Well?" he asked grandly. "What are you waiting for? Kill me! Finish me God damn it!" She didn't acknowledge him, instead shuddering a bit more and brushing her hand along the bandage. He sneered in contempt of his captor.

"You don't get to ignore me you bitch!" he spat on the foliage beside me to voice his distaste of her very existence.

She raised her chin, before taking a long swig from the flask, and suddenly, he became parched at the thought of the liquid sliding down her throat instead of his. She cringed as the contents burned her throat, while he wished she would choke on it. She picked up her gun, aimed it at him and looked beyond its shaft to stare into his brown eyes. He stared at her daringly not fazed by the implications at all. His mind was fogged but one thing was for sure. She didn't have it in her to kill.

As expected she slowly put her gun down and then, finally, she spoke "I have no intention of becoming like you, German scum. Rounding up, killing the helpless." She sighed "and in any case I've seen enough blood today, wouldn't you agree?"

"I must disagree mademoiselle," I snarled. "I haven't gotten enough of yours".

She edged closer and began emptying my pockets and storing its contents in the brown bag. Money, cigarettes, a gun and a switchblade.

"You have made a terrible mistake my sweet. They'll come looking for me, you know." he said with a wide grin plastered on his face.

"It will take them a few hours to notice you're gone and a few more hours to find you. By then I will be long gone and you will not be able to find me. Try not to urinate all over yourself, it will attract insects. Count yourself lucky for today sir, I have spared you. " she stumbled as she got up, and his smile was replaced with an expression of contempt.

"We will meet again my love. I will come looking for that" I nodded at the switchblade in her grasp. "and sadly I will not be returning the favor when I find you. Jewish filth-" My head snapped to the side at the force of a blow. She had struck me with a closed fist. Pain surged through his face, his nerves dancing to life.

"I am French." She said simply, as she limped away into the darkness of the forest while she scowled shouting obscenities to her back. He sat there for hours in regret, he regretted putting himself in a drunken spell, he regretted going out for a walk that late at night for a cigarette break, but still, to be ambushed so close to base would have required an amalgam of courage and stupidity on her part. By the sight of that wound he knew she was desperate. Where had she gotten the wound? It was still fresh, he wondered where the men who gave it to her were. Were they even alive?

He lay there, robbed of his goods, helpless and seething . She took his knife. The switchblade given to him by the commander and chief. His father. It was unforgivable, and he would find her, he swore to himself, and he would bring upon her excruciating pain that would almost send her to her grave. Almost. He didn't want her dead, no, he wanted to teach her a lesson. A long and hard one.

He stayed there 'til dawn and still no sight of any of his men. He was starved, exhausted, and slightly dehydrated. They would find him. He was a lieutenant, his presence would be missed soon enough.

"Lieutenant Jojo!" It was midday when he was woken up by sounds of barking and hollering. They weren't far, he shouted for help and they came right away. Mitch, his subordinate, saw him first, immediately pulling out a dagger and cutting him loose.

"Take me to Boomer." he managed to say in a hoarse voice.

"Yes sir." he was half dragged to a car, and driven to his compound to find Boomer already waiting.

"Bring him in, bring him in." He said the before checking him over to conclude there was nothing there but the beginnings of a cold. Mitch and the rest of the team were then dismissed.

"What happened out there?" He asked tentatively.

He shook his head before replying. "I was robbed by a French harlot." he gritted my teeth. "I wonder how my men think of me now."

"They still think highly of you, I can see it. If anything they seek vengeance against the person responsible."

"No, she's mine. I'll extract revenge myself." Brick said, with the something dark churning within him.

 **Wow! What a whirlwind. I hope you liked it, tell me what you think or give me some suggestions and ideas on how to make this story amazing by reviewing this story. See ya soon by the way. I'd appreciate it if someone would tell me how to do that line thingy that people put at the end of a scene, much appreciated**


	2. The survivor

**Thanks for coming to my story, please review when you're done.**

* * *

It had been a week since her run in with the German officer.

Her bandage was now dirty, and it was at risk of infection. Her body was scorching hot and her chest heaved with every step she took. The pain in her thigh was soaring. Her limp had worsened, turning her movements from a brisk walk into a trudge as she made her way further and further away from the base and loosing herself in the forest. She hadn't eaten in days due to this haste, sparing no time for breaks or rest.

The officer would have been found by now, hopefully in a pool of his own vomit, and there would be a hunt for her head. They were a prideful bunch, after all, those German bastards.

She was loosing strength, but that was easily overcome by the deep fear of being captured. As she continued her trudge, she stumbled, Falling to her knees painfully.

Blossom was forced to take a break from her moving.

'You are far enough;' she reasoned. 'Just take one break, they won't find you here...'

She heaved in a breath, trying to calm her heart's rapid beating when she smelled... water. The fresh wetness of the air was unmistakable. Hope surged through her as she got onto her feet and continued onward, grunting in pain.

She moved faster, panting with the physical exertion despite her eyes, which were more alive than they had been in days. And then she saw it.

Through the trees she had caught a glimpse of the crystalline water, and it had her pushing forward desperately. She reached the river and stood still for what felt like an hour. She looked around in trepidation, surveying the place to see if anyone else was present. There was no one.

Blossom watched the ripples of water moving out of the shore while bending to her haunches. Cupping her hands, she submerged them into the liquid and brought its contents to her lips, slowly sipping at it before gulping down the sustenance over and over until her stomach ached and she could take no more.

She began to weep. Her hot tears rolled down to the cool droplets of water left on her skin. She choked on the water, barely catching her breathe as she soaked in her relief. She got up on her feet and threw her satchel to the side slowly and began removing her clothing. She slid off the heavy combated boots that were a size or two too big and lifted the muddied blue dress off her person. She took off her dirty white undergarments and her red bow. When she was fully exposed she moved towards the edge and sunk herself into the tepid waters, cooling her undressed form.

Blossom washed her face, hair and body of all the grime it had collected throughout the month. The brown sludge of her hair being washed away revealing her natural red mane. This was war, things like this were a luxury and so she savored it. The Germans were taking more and more of France, making no place safe other than the forest. The vast lands would be the salvation of all those who opposed the new reign.

Blossom could only imagine though. She hadn't seen any others since the attack on her team. 'My team...' Her stomach clenched at the thought.

She calmed her mind and floated on her back, carelessly watching the blue skies. How was it that the skies remain indifferent to the pandemonium below it? Was war not enough to warrant gray clouds in the summer? She closed her eyes, feeling wronged by nature and yet saved by it.

She heard a rustle in the bush and stood up in the river suddenly, very aware of her exposed and unarmed self. Blossom berated herself at her idiocy. Blossom swam to the edge of the river, grabbed her satchel and withdrew her gun, aiming at the culprit which was a... rabbit.

Her eyes beamed at the sight of it. She couldn't shoot it, the noise would bring attention to her position. So she reached for a piece of grass beside her and yanked it off of the floor. She gestured the creature to come closer, holding out the grass as an incentive. She tried to remove the sense of desperation in her eyes when their eyes met for she was sure it would see it and scurry away. Animals were so perceptive of our baser instincts, it knew a hunter when it saw one and she was practically salivating at the sight of it. Shockingly enough, it came willingly.

It hopped towards her, an Blossom scooped it up in one hand while stroking it with the other and feeding the beast. Once it had settled, her hand reached around its head, grabbed it, and snapped its neck to the side before it could struggle. Blossoms eyes closed in a silent prayer for its place in the afterlife.

She withdrew a switchblade from the brown bag and began skinning it. Its bare skin was rubbed into a raw pink with beads of blood seeping out of it. A fire was built and the rabbit roasted in the daylight while she washed her old dress and undergarments, donning a new one. It was a brown one, which was much more inconspicuous.

Redressing the wound was next. There was no sign of infection, and it hadn't opened up. It was healing well and faster than it had felt it had. Blossom picked at the scab that had formed absentmindedly before covering it up with gauze, but only after pouring alcohol from the stolen canister which, as appealing it seemed to take a swing at it, she knew it could not be afforded to waste it.

Blossom sighed dejectedly, wondering about her fate. She had to find someone. Anyone. She had to have someone to share this anguish with. She couldn't do this alone. Maybe she would find another struggling group she could join, or militant rebels she could fight alongside and rid these holy lands of Nazi scum.

'Not in this condition.' she thought, biting into the rabbit, it's soft flesh almost falling off the bone. The taste, although in actuality quite bland, was heavenly, and she thought herself lucky to have come across such a large one. However, it was not nearly enough to fully satisfy days worth of starvation.

Thus, she put out the fire and began setting traps so she would eat tomorrow and the days after that.

Blossom lay down, taking in deep breaths. It was almost sunset, the colors of the sky changing and staining the sky a lavish blood color. She watched as the clear sun that lit the skies bled into the dark, starry night.

She hadn't had much time to think this week through the haze of her run. It was in this moment of silence, peace, and tranquility that her thoughts rushed through her at full force. Where were their forces moving to next? They had already taken her home, did that mean west?

Mama would say "You shouldn't think about things that have little effect on you, and that you could do little to affect, young one." Blossom couldn't help it though, she never could. The war had changed everything. Her life was so unrecognizable. It was filled with fighting, struggle, and desperation. She turned over to her side and eventually allowed sleep to claim her.

* * *

It was the chirping of birds that woke her. She hadn't slept like that since... well, since before the war.

Blossom opened her eyes and sat up. It was still dark, but the sky showed evidence of an impending dawn. She couldn't stay here as much as she wished to. It had been days since she had felt this safe, rested and satiated.

She had to keep moving. Moving until she found someone, or someone found her. Someone to help her bring more purpose, since all she had was herself, and it was going to drive her insane. Going through day after day without human contact. Getting lost in these woods with no way to keep track of time or effectively navigate through them. Blossom would not survive very long alone.

She made rounds to the traps she had set the night before, finding four adult rabbits. Blossom thanked the Lord for His graciousness, and packed them into her bag after finishing them off in the most gentle way the girl could think of.

She the removed her clothes, and made her way across the wide river holding the satchel filled with goods above her red mane. Reaching the other side, she redressed and trekked on with an almost unnoticeable limp.

Not long after, a violent cough racked through her body. He heart filled with doom as she clutched her throat and begged for reprieve. She was getting sick. There were no antibiotics left from the heist. The water was clean, it had supplied the neighboring towns with its fresh springs. The rabbit was well cooked, too. It must have been from the total shock of the body going from the brink of death to stable. It must have been dramatic enough, because she saw no fault in her actions.

"I'm going to die." Blossom spoke aloud. She curled up into a ball, and cried. A desperate struggle for life, this is how she would die. A lay-mans death.

No! She would find someone. Someone who would help her. There had to be a way. The forest was vast, but there would be others there close by! Blossom pulled herself together, and began walking again. She was determined to save herself. Somehow.

As she trekked on, she sneezed. Her nose blocked, and blue eyes watering, she could only breathe through her mouth now. It had been a few days and it was only getting worse. She was right back where she started. She had food and water, but this unnamed illness was what would end her.

* * *

Brick had been having his afternoon whiskey when he came in.

Brick took an extra whiff of the aged drink, looking outside the study window out into the gardens and sighed at its aroma. The tropes had seized a mansion in the country side of the small town they were now based in. It still had its staff hiding in its nook and crannies, but they would be found eventually. The ones who had been found set about working the quarters daily, as though there were not at war. It brought peace to him. Although he was the one who owned the house now, it was now also home to other Captains, lieutenants and Majors who passed through the town.

"You requested me sir." said Private Ryan.

"Inform Captain Heinz that his team is to pack up and head to Limoges tomorrow morning."

"Yes sir;" he saluted me before turning and leaving the room.

Brick took a seat at the mahogany desk and leaned back on his chair. There wasn't much to be done as Lieutenant Colonel besides making sure that the tropes that came in and out of the town were fed, hydrated, and well rested. He would come together with other senior officers and strategize their next move.

He would head out into the town everyday to shout out commands and meet with other officers, receiving information on the status of tropes beyond this town. It was mentally exhausting. Brick rubbed his temples at the thought. However, the living conditions were nothing to complain about. The house was beautiful, there were French books and a film room to entertain guests.

His mind wandered off to the girl in the forest. He clenched his glass harder, frustration building. It was an embarrassment. He had sent a team of men to look for her unmistakable red locks and they hadn't come back. A waste of resources he knew, but he didn't care. He wanted her. Oh how he wanted her. He knew of the jokes made at his expense behind his back. He needed to crush her windpipes with his bare hands. He needed to break her in half. He needed beat her bloody.

Scenes like this had played on repeat the pasts few days, bringing with it a sense of rage. He had ordered that they bring her alive and unharmed. He would be the only one to inflict pain on her. He wouldn't have it any other way.

How sweet revenge would be. He wet his lips and took another sip at his drink.

* * *

It was dark now, but thankfully the warmth of the day hadn't left the land.

"Blossom where are we going?" Tristan was dressed in his usual paper boy uniform, seemingly oblivious of the current situation.

"I'm going to find someone who can help." She answered, trudging on.

"Help with what?" He asked, puzzled.

"Help me with my illness. I don't know what kind it is."

"Then how are they supposed to help you, if you don't know the illness?"

Blossom paused in her step and turned around to look at him, exasperated. Tristan had been selling newspapers in the city for 3 years, but never seemed to grow above 4.7ft- making him a target for bullies.

The illness had began to give rise to hallucinations. Blossom would be walking and be greeted by people of her past as though they were still alive and well, when they were anything but. Blossom endured it, though. There was something both comforting and tormenting about their non-existent presence.

Tristan stared back with wonderment. " "Are you going to fight them?" he asked, his short legs trying to catch up with her.

"Fight them? I just said I was going to ask them for help. Why would I fight them?" I looked at him incredulously.

"No;" he shook his head "I meant the Nazis, are you going to fight them?"

"I'm outnumbered, barely armed, and sick. Trust me when I say that I'm in no position to fight even a squirrel." She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

Tristan pressed his lips together. "I think you could take them, if you really wanted to."

Blossom rolled her eyes in the most dramatic fashion. "Tristan, I appreciate your company, but I'm afraid you have to go now. You're slowing me down." looking at him once more, she walked away.

Tristan watched her leave somberly "I was just trying to help!" He yelled after her as he slowly faded away.

The past few days she had been visited by the people in her town. Her teachers, her cook, Tristan, and Jacob- who was the stable boy. It was unnerving at first, but she had gotten use to it and now didn't even flinch at the sudden sight of another one of them.

It was getting dark again. She lay down against a tree covered in soft, pillow-like moss and took her rest.

She felt a shake that startled her awake. Opening her eyes, she sighed in relief "Papa!" she leaped into his arms and wrapped herself around him, forgetting all about her hallucinations. His body was smaller than she had remembered, it was probably because of the war.

Food supplies weren't exactly accessible in this time. Lord knows how much weight she must have lost at this point. Blossom couldn't think more on it, as she was shoved to the ground, landing on her bottom. She then felt the cool steel of a gun against her temples. Her eyes opened again and she found another man in place of Papa.

It was took dark to make out his features, but one thing she could make out was the look of contempt on his face. "Put down the gun Maurice, she's clear." Maurice growled before lowering his gun and storing it in its holster.

Another man came around him and offered Blossom a hand. She sat there dumbfounded for a moment before reaching out to grab it. He lifted her off the ground and she leaned against him for support. "Let's get her to the camp, she's weak"

"So we're going to pick up every stray we find? Huh?" the other sneered.

"We going to keep as many people alive as we can. That's what we're doing"

"I'll take that as a yes, then." he grumbled.

Blossom stayed silent through the whole debacle, afraid they would change their minds. She was lifted off her feet as one of the men slung her limp body over his shoulder. It was uncomfortable, but much less straining than walking at this point.

She tried to take an impromptu nap, however, her current position wouldn't allow it. His shoulder was lodged into her pelvis, but she was not about to complain. She had finally found a person, two of them and by the sound of things there were more of them. She never knew how exceedingly much she craved human interaction until now. Almost as much as she craved food. Almost.

Wait, what if they were a group that had an appetite for human flesh, and they were taking her to them to satiate their hunger? It certainly was a possibility. Food was scarce, and he did mention that she was weak. The perfect state for a victim.

A small amount of panic began to build in the pit of her stomach. Curse her naivety. Soon, the distinct smell of smoke was in the air. There must be a fire up ahead. She stiffened, the thoughts of cannibalism still fresh in her mind. She pushed them away in favor of more positive thoughts: people, company and peace. It lifted her spirit somewhat.

Soon, she was staring at their flickering shadows as they walked closer and closer to a fire. After a while, their steps came to a halt. She slid down the strangers body. He was incredibly tall. Her toes reached the floor and she released her hold on his clothes. Blossom took a look at the men before her, studying them dazedly.

"If you are going to stay in the camp, we'll need your name." said the tall gentleman who had been carrying her.

"Robin" she said nervously. She could already feel the awkwardness coming mostly from the situation at hand, but also from her now lacking social skills. She turned around, suddenly aware of her surroundings and saw what looked like bodies coddled up against each other. A few tents stood amongst them. There couldn't be more than 50 people by the looks of things.

"Robin? No surname?"

"Yup."

The tall man sighed in defeat. "We'll talk about this tomorrow when we are all rested." He grabbed a blanket that was thrown on the side. "Here. Use this and pick a spot."

Scanning the area, Blossom found a spot by a tree on the far side of the camp. She started for it, but stopped. Looking back at her saviors, she bowed. "I cannot thank you enough for your kindness." She whispered.

"Don't mention it." They walked off into the camp. Finding her seat, Blossom layed against the tree and rested.

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